The Hogwarts Affair
by MorriganByrne
Summary: Harry finds a friend in the press when he meets a young Beauxbatons wizard with a habit of getting himself in and out of tough scrapes. Can the reporter Tintin and his friend, former Auror Haddock, help Harry survive the Triwizard Tournament? Or will they too fall victim to the dark forces watching from the shadows? Looking for a French translator.
1. The Quidditch Imbroglio

"Tickets and identification." the auror asked, stepping in front of the entrance to the VIP box. The two wizards handed over their passes and passports. "Press, ay?" the auror said, inspecting the first passport carefully. "I'm sure Fudge will love you."

"Is the Minister of Magic here?" the young man asked innocently. "I was unaware."

The auror cracked a grin and handed the documents back before standing aside. "Enjoy the match," he said. The two thanked him and entered the box, a small white dog following close behind.

"Nothing like a good Quidditch match, ay?" the older wizard, a seasoned Englishman with a grizzled black beard and a nose red from an overindulgence in potent potables.

"I'll admit, I'm more interested in people watching," the man's companion replied.

"C'mon, friend, have some enthusiasm. This is the Quidditch World Cup! Do you know how much I had to fork over for these seats?"

"I'd rather not." The younger wizard stopped and cast his gaze over the other occupants in the box. He spotted the Minister of Magic at the front, flanked by two aurors. _Getting to him would be a challenge,_ he thought. He spotted Ludo Bagman seated beside Barty Crouch and momentarily considered grilling the wizard on his recent gambling scandal when he laid eyes Lucius Malfoy and his son a few seats over from Fudge. _Ah, there's a catch._ "Mr. Malfoy!"

"Who's that wizard talking to Mr. Malfoy?" Harry asked, leaning across Ron to Mr. Weasley.

"That's Tintin, the reporter," Ron's father replied. "He writes for _Le miroir magique_. Has a knack for finding trouble and getting out of it. His friend is Captain Haddock, a retired auror. Second best in the force once upon a time, after old Mad-Eye."

"I've heard of Haddock, but I never heard of Tintin," Ron said.

"You've never read his work?" Hermione said. "Honestly, Ron, you need to read more. They put his stories in the _Prophet_ sometimes. He recently got back from China, where he broke up an illegal potions operation.

"The Blue Lotus Affair," Mr. Weasley said. "That's his best one yet, I think."

"I'm partial to his adventure in America, tangling with the anti-Muggle forces," Hermione said.

"He's a kind of journalist you rarely see these days," Mr. Weasley noted.

Lucius turned and stifled a sneer at the sight of the reporter. "Mr. Tintin, a pleasant surprise. I believe you're lost; the press box is on the opposite end of the field."

"I'm here solely as an observer," Tintin replied. "Are you here as a guest of the Minister?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Malfoy replied, puffing up. "I own lifetime tickets."

"So rich," Tintin's companion muttered, ambling up beside the young man.

Lucius appraised the newcomer quickly. "I don't believe we've met, Mr…"

"Haddock," the man replied shortly. "_Captain_ Haddock."

"Ah, yes, now I remember. Archibald Haddock, you were in the auror division."

Haddock smiled. "That I was. Twenty years on the force."

"You were sacked for drunkenness, if I recall correctly."

Haddock's smile faded as his face reddened to match the color of his nose. "You don't."

"Ah, my mistake."

Tintin had several questions, but he had a feeling he'd get nowhere with Lord Malfoy. He looked around the box again, his gaze locking on one figure in particular. "Is that…"

Lucius followed the reporter's gaze. "Ah, yes, Harry Potter," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "Somehow he got in with the Weasleys-where they got the galleons for the tickets, I've no idea."

"Lovely talking to you as ever, Lucius," Tintin said.

Mr. Weasley nudged Ron. "Oh, look, he's coming over."

"Mr. Potter?" Harry looked over and studied the French reporter. He looked to be about Harry's age, maybe a year or so older. He had a soft-featured face with a small button nose and a pair of inquisitive brown eyes. His red hair was cut short, its otherwise neat presentation marred by a curious cowlick at the front. He wore what looked to be a mix between a beige trenchcoat and a robe over a blue sweater and outdated brown plus-fours. "My name is Tintin."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said, shaking the young reporter's hand.

"Likewise. I'll admit, I'm honored to meet you; you're rather hard to find."

Harry grimaced. "Dumbledore likes to keep me out of the news."

Tintin frowned, but brushed aside the curious statement. "You play for the Gryffindor team, right?" He noticed Harry's reticence and smiled. "No worries, I'm not here for an interview."

Harry relaxed and nodded. "I hear the Irish and Bulgarian seekers are pretty good."

"Aye, Lynch is the frontrunner," Haddock said, "but I've got my galleons on Krum." He noticed Tintin's disapproval. "Figuratively, of course."

A yip directed Harry's attention down as a small animal put its paws up on his knees and licked one of his hands. Harry smiled at the little white dog and patted him on the head. "Is this your dog?"

Tintin nodded. "Down! Really, Snowy, you're much better behaved than that."

"I don't mind," Harry said.

A gong sounded through the stadium. Haddock checked his pocket watch. "Ah, ten minutes from liftoff; mind if we take these seats?"

"By all means," Mr. Weasley replied.

The reporter and the auror settled in, and for the next hour they thought of little else but the ensuing match.

* * *

"Honestly, Captain, can't you hold your liquor for once?"

The Captain stumbled on a tent peg, pausing his off-kilter rendition of an Irish drinking song. "Can't a man have a little fun?"

Tintin knew better than to press the argument. His old friend had been behaving well these last few weeks; one night of debauchery probably wouldn't kill him.

"Those Irish really whipped the Bulgars, didn't they?" Haddock said with a grin. "Just as I predicted."

"Didn't you bet a hundred galleons that the Bulgarians would win?"

Haddock paused misstep, his face going slack. "Oh, blistering barnacles!"

Tintin flinched, but not from the Captain's creative profanity. Rather, he flinched as an explosion rocked the ground under him. Tent flaps opened, and the revellers paused in their celebration and looked around in confusion. A second explosion, this one closer, unleashed the first wave of panic. Within moments, people were running to and fro, and screams and spells filled the night air.

"What the devil?" Haddock drew his wand, suddenly three drinks more sober. Tintin did the same and jumped onto a vacated camp chair for a better look. He spotted a group of robed and masked figures to his right, setting tents afire as they advanced through the festival grounds.

"Captain!" He stepped down and motioned for Haddock to take his place. The Captain caught site of the mob and went pale.

"_Death Eaters._" His blood began to boil. "Death Eaters!" Before Tintin could stop him, Haddock leapt down and pushed through the crowd towards the masked wizards. "You bashi bazouks! Poltroons! I'll tan the lot of ya!

Tintin made to follow when he nearly collided with a group of young Hogwarts students. "Harry!" he said, recognizing Potter. "You need to get out of here! It's not safe!"

"Where should we go?" Harry's bushy-haired friend (Granger, he recalled) asked, eyes frantic.

Tintin looked around and caught site of the treeline in the distance. "The woods! We can hide there!"

The four young wizards pushed through the crowd, reaching the edge of the forest right as the Death Eaters overran their previous location. They hunkered down in the bushes and watched in horror as the Death Eaters began to torture the Muggle campground owner and his family. "Barbarians," Tintin muttered.

"Look!" Harry pointed to their left. "That's Mr. Crouch's elf, Winky."

"What's she doing?" Ron asked.

Tintin was just as stumped; the house elf appeared to be engaged in a tug of war with an invisible opponent. After a few moments, the house elf fell back onto the grass, seemingly out cold. Snowy leapt out of the bushes and rushed towards the elf, only to be thrown back by whatever had attacked Winky. "Snowy!" Tintin fired off a few stunning spells, but they bounced harmlessly off of the trees.

Harry was about to rush over and help the house elf when a sudden burst of green light startled him. He looked back towards the tent village just in time to see the Dark Mark appear in the sky. "Good Merlin," Tintin whispered in French. Harry had to agree.

* * *

"Death Eaters?" Fudge gave the reporter a nervous laugh. "Nonsense. It was just a bunch of hooligans causing havoc."

"Only a Death Eater would know how to cast the Dark Mark," Haddock replied. He had appeared soon after the end of the riot, his robes in tatters and his nose broken.

"It's easier than one would think," Malfoy said quietly.

Haddock scowled at the man. "You'd know, wouldn't you, you pestilential puddle of frog spawn. Where were you during all this? Playing with your old comrades?" Lucius made to draw his wand from its cane holster but Haddock beat him to the punch, knocking the cane aside. "Or were you hiding like the coward you always were?"

"How dare you!" Lucius snarled, shaking with rage. "I won't stand here and listen to the babbling of an old drunk. Draco, we're going home." He summoned his cane back, grabbed his son by the arm and apparated away with a soft pop.

"We ought to track him," Haddock muttered.

Fudge tsked and shook his head. "Don't be absurd, Archibald. Malfoy is a respected member of the Wizengamot and a good friend of mine."

"The bigger the purse, the closer the friend," Haddock said under his breath before stomping away.

Tintin was distracted from his friend's storming off by the appearance of Barty Crouch. The man was dragging the house elf Winky behind him. "I found our culprit," he said angrily, pushing Winky towards Fudge and the gathered aurors. He tossed Fudge a wand. "She used this to cast the Dark Mark."

"Why would a house elf need a wand to cast magic?" Tintin asked.

Fudge inspected the wand closely. "Yes, this is indeed the wand responsible. Really, Barty, I'm shocked."

"Not as stunned as I am," Crouch replied. He cast a cold eye on his house elf. "Winky," he began, pulling off one of his gloves and tossing it to the elf. "You're sacked." He gave his regards to Fudge before leaving his former servant clutching the glove and wailing in misery.

"You don't honestly believe that Winky could do such a thing?" Tintin asked one of the aurors he knew by name.

Kingsley Shacklebolt gave a resigned gesture. "I'm afraid it's the only viable outcome," he said, glancing over at Fudge and frowning.

"There's no use in arresting her," Fudge said. "She's been punished enough as it is."

Hermione walked over to Winky. "Come on, let's get you something hot to drink."

"Winky doesn't want to be free!" the elf sobbed.

Tintin shook his head. "This whole thing stinks," he said, turning to Fudge. "Winky was fighting with someone in the woods and was knocked out right before the Dark Mark was cast. Whatever attacked her also attacked my dog." Snowy barked in agreement, a bandage wrapped around his wounded ear.

"This isn't your country, Tintin," Fudge replied, crossing his arms. "I suggest you leave the investigation to us."

"This isn't over," Tintin promised, wagging his finger at the minister. He turned to Harry and his friends. "Sorry about tonight, Harry. I suppose we'll meet again."

Harry gave a sigh of resignation. "I suppose we will."

* * *

**Look here! Another story?**

**Apologies, I originally began the story during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, but I decided that it would be better to begin with the events of the Quidditch World Cup. The original first chapter will be recycled for a later post.**

**I have always been an enormous fan of the Adventures of Tintin, and I've long considered writing a fanfic. What a surprise that I chose to crossover with Harry Potter, my specialty. If you enjoy this story, please favorite, follow, and leave a comment below! Also, do take a look at my other stories.**

**Edit: Made Tintin closer in age to Harry, meaning he's now a Beauxbatons student as well as a reporter. What an overachiever, amirite?**


	2. Payoffs and Pratfalls

**We are back!**

**Some may wonder at my decision to jump to a whole new fic when I now have five waiting (some collecting more than others). I suppose it's an attempt to avoid falling into a writer's block; when some inspiration dries up, hop to another story and recharge.**

**Then again, it's my work, and ultimately I'm writing these stories to please myself (****_although, the internet fame does wonders for my self-esteem)_****.**

**Tintin belongs to Herge/Studio Moulinsart. Harry Potter, of course, belongs to Jojo Rowling. Someone showed me a satirical news article recently wherein Ms. Rowling reveals that the reader has been gay all along. I found this hilarious and, being queer, rather inspiring.**

* * *

The nocturnal quiet of the deserted road was broken by a noise much like a car backfiring. One minute, the road was empty, the next it was not.

A white fox terrier gave a shiver of displeasure. His owner smiled reassuringly. "Not the most pleasant of methods, I know, but I wasn't going to wait in line at the Floo, especially not in rush hour.

The young wizard and his dog strolled slowly down the lane for a half-kilometer before turning down a gravel drive nestled among the trees. He emerged at the other side of the copse, stopping before the gates of a once-grand estate.

The manor house beyond had clearly been the victim of a long-ago fire: it was a ruin of rotting, charred beams and crumbling, charred granite. A French-styled garden had been overtaken by weeds. The rusting gate was chained and padlocked, an _Entree interdite_ sign posted beside it. The young wizard cast a quick _alohomora_, opened the gate, and stepped through the wards. With that, the ruin was gone, replaced a grand manor house in the French Renaissance style.

As he mounted the front steps and reached for a door handle, it was opened for him by a solemn man in a yellow-and-black pinstripe vest. "Good evening, Tintin. May I take your robe?"

"Thank you, Nestor," Tintin handed the butler his outer garment and crossed the grand hall, his steps ringing off of the marble floors.

He found Captain Haddock in the smoking room seated by the fireplace, his tumbler of firewhiskey momentarily neglected as the older man sat absorbed in the most recent copy of_ Le miroir magique_. He glanced up as Tintin came in and smirked. "Good piece on the smuggling ring," he said, folding the paper and tossing it to the boy.

"Thanks, Captain," Tintin replied. "It could have been better."

"Don't punish yourself, Tintin. That Rastapopoulos is a slippery troglodyte."

"It just frustrates me that he keeps slipping through the auror's fingers," Tintin walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a glass of soda water. "Now he's off plotting another of his schemes."

"Whatever scheme he cooks up, you'll give him a good thrashing," Haddock replied with a smirk. "You always do."

Tintin flopped onto a sofa and sighed. Snowy jumped up beside his master and curled up for a quick nap. "I'm going to London," he said, sipping his drink.

"Really?" Haddock picked up his glass, downed it in one gulp, then stood to top himself up. "This is about the World Cup, isn't it?"

"The whole case stinks to high heaven," Tintin replied, sitting up. "I can't get it out of my head."

"Another of your damned mysteries." Haddock shook his head. "I'd be very careful, Tintin; the British Ministry of Magic are far less tolerant of the press, unless they're being fawned over by the _Prophet_. You've met their Press Secretary?"

"Ah yes, Umbridge." Tintin made a sour face. "Awful woman. It'll be an uphill battle getting anything out of her."

"So what's your plan? Should I tag along?"

"I could use someone with connections among the auror department," Tintin replied. "Plus, an underaged wizard requires a responsible guardian to chaperone him on trips abroad."

Haddock grinned. "Well, It's been a while since I've seen Diagon Alley or old Mad-Eye. You can get some school shopping done as well."

"You'd also be a good wand to have in a fight, provided you're not hitting the bottle."

"I'll have you know I've cut down to three glasses a day."

"Of _firewhisky_. What about your port intake? Butterbeer?"

"Well…" Haddock swore and stood up. "What I drink is my business. Provided I don't make an ass of myself, I see no reason to listen to your criticism."

"Sorry to have insulted you, Captain."

"I'm going to bed."

"Be ready to go early," Tintin called after the man as he stormed out. " I've taken the liberty of booking a an eight o'clock portkey."

* * *

Tintin enjoyed Diagon Alley; its eclectic shops and haphazard buildings reminded him of some of the Medieval neighborhoods in Brussels. He always went out of his way to visit the wizard enclave when in the country, even if it meant waiting on a valuable lead.

"Where to first?" Haddock asked, eying the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Flourish and Blotts," Tintin said, dragging the ex-auror past the pub door. "I need to brush up my history of the British Wizarding War. You can also Floo to the Ministry from there."

* * *

"Look, there's that French reporter," Hermione said, tugging on Harry's sleeve.

Harry glanced up and saw Tintin and his older friend chatting with Mr. Blott. "What's he doing here?"

"Shopping, obviously," Hermione replied. "A boy of my own heart."

"Figures," Ron muttered.

Harry ignored his friends and walked over to the reference shelves. He found a copy of _A Wizarding Who's Who_, and flipped through until he found the entry he was looking for:

_**Tintin (Reporter):**_

_B. January 10, 1977; Brussels, Belgium. Joined staff of Le Miroir Magique January, 1990 as an columnist for Le Petit Miroir, a monthly children's magazine. Quickly made a name for himself as a muckraker. Has reported from as far off as Russia, San Theodoros, China, India & the United States._

_An orphan at birth, was placed under the guardianship of Archibald Haddock, the controversial commander of the Auror Vice Squad from 1960-1984 (see Haddock, Archibald). Lives outside of Brussels at Marlinspike Hall, the Haddock family estate. Often in the company of his faithful fox terrier, Snowy. Attends Beauxbatons Academy sporadically._

Harry returned the book to its place and went over to the biography section. Several of the cub. reporter's books were on the shelves, he picked one at random and read the title: _King Ottokar's Sceptre: Dispatches from the Syldavian-Bordurian Conflict_. The cover depicted Tintin and Snowy standing in front of a European castle, smiling and waving to the camera. He flipped through the pages slowly, stopping to read the start of one chapter:

_Most wizarding governments have shied away from the use of Muggle firearms. In 1830, the International Confederation of Wizards almost unanimously passed a resolution banning the use of guns in conflict, citing it as a Weapon of Mass Destruction._

_Among the few nations that voted against the resolution were Syldavia and Borduria. This I only discovered now, as the Syldavian border guard drew his weapon, leveled it at my head, and pulled the trigger..._

"Doing some research?" Harry gave a start; unbeknownst to him, Tintin had approached him and was reading along over the boy's shoulder.

Harry hurriedly put the book back. "Just curious, I guess."

"Hello, Mr. Tintin." Hermione and Ron had noticed the reporter and walked over to join them. "What are you doing in Diagon Alley?" the girl asked.

"Just doing some school shopping," Tintin said.

The reporter had several books tucked under one arm. Ron leaned in to read one of the spines. "A History of Dark Magic in Great Britain."

"I'm trying to learn more about Voldemort," the reporter said, patting the book.

Ron and Hermione flinched, as did a young witch in the next aisle who'd been eavesdropping on the Boy-Who-Lived. "You said his name," Harry said, mildly surprised.

Tintin nodded. "I've always found your country's taboo on his name ridiculous. He wanted the public to fear his name; it gave him more power."

"You're here about the Cup attack, aren't you?" Hermione asked.

Tintin smiled. "Yes, I'm hoping to dig up some dirt."

"Good luck with that," Ron said. "My dad says the case was open-and-shut. Vandalism and Illegal Possession of a Wand by a Magical Creature."

Tintin rolled his eyes. "Good thing I have Haddock with me. I sent him off to the Ministry to try and get some gossip."

As if on cue, the fireplace lit up green. "_Bloodsucking bureaucratic baboons!_" A second later the Captain was thrown through the fire, landing flat on his face with a loud oomph.

Tintin walked over and helped his friend up. "I take it things didn't go so well at the Ministry?"

"Blackguards wouldn't let me through security," Haddock said, rubbing his bruised nose. "Some words were exchanged."

"Seems like an overreaction if they threw you through the Floo," Hermione said.

Haddock rubbed the back of his neck. "I may have accidentally tried to punch one of them in the jaw."

"Temper, temper, Captain," Tintin mock-chided the older wizard.

Hermione tapped her friends on the shoulders. "I'm afraid we have to go and purchase our potions ingredients," she said. "It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Tintin."

"Just Tintin is fine, Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, good to see you."

Tintin and Haddock watched the Golden Trio leave the shop. "Potter has a good group of friends," the Captain remarked.

"He's nothing like I imagined," Tintin said.

"Who, Potter?" Haddock grinned. "You mean he's not an arrogant celebrity?"

Tintin nodded. "If anything, he seems uncomfortable with fame."

"Sounds like a friend of mine." Haddock nudged the boy with a grin. "C'mon, let's hit the Leaky Cauldron for some lunch."

"_Tintin! Quelle surprise!_"

Tintin turned and caught sight of a rather unkempt wizard standing in the doorway. Beside him was a young girl with light yellow hair and a serene expression wearing a pair of 3-D glasses and radish earrings. "Xenophilius!" Tintin strode over and pumped the man's hand. "So good to see you!"

Haddock joined the group and appraised Lovegood. "How goes the nargle hunt?"

"_Don't be rude, Captain,_" Tintin hissed under his breath.

"Splendidly, Captain Haddock," Lovegood's daughter replied, failing to detect the derision in the man's voice. "We nearly caught them in Connemara, but they gave us the slip."

"Wiley little buggers, aren't they?" Haddock said smiling.

"You must be Luna," Tintin said, shaking the girl's hand. "A pleasure to meet another young reporter. I found your story about Sirius Black's innocence quite intriguing."

"Thank you, Mr. Tintin. I'm currently following up a lead on Mr. Black. I believe he may be living in disguise as Stubby Boardman."

"The musician?" Tintin suppressed a chuckle.

"I think Luna's onto something," Xenophilius said. "Think about it: they've never been seen together in the same room."

"That's because Black's a wanted criminal," Haddock noted. "Boardman; he's dating that awful Castafiore, isn't he?" Luna nodded. "Can't stand her. Once had her over to Marlinspike for a performance; she broke every mirror in the ballroom."

"Father thinks she's part banshee," Luna said.

"I wouldn't be the least bit surprised," Tintin said, laughing.

"You're here about the Quidditch Cup," Luna said.

"How did you know that?" Haddock asked. "Are you a mindreader?"

Xenophilius laughed loudly. "Merlin, no! We heard that a former auror was thrown out of the Ministry of Magic. It was either Moody or you, Haddock, and wherever you are Tintin is no doubt nearby."

"We were about to have lunch," Tintin said. "Would you care to join us?"

"Certainly! I want to hear all about your latest case."

* * *

"Very interesting," Lovegood said, looking up from his fish and chips as Tintin finished his summary. "So you don't buy that Ministry rot about vandals either?"

"It makes no sense," Haddock said. "The blasted ICW even denounced the investigation: called it a coverup. Too bad they're too bloody useless to intervene."

"And you've hit a snag in your sleuthing at the Ministry," Lovegood continued.

"Seems so," Tintin replied, pushing his chicken cutlet around the plate. "No doubt the Ministry will stonewall us as always."

Lovegood gave a small grin and leaned in to the reporter. "I might have a bit of a solution, my friend," he said, sotto voce. Tintin gestured for the man to continue. "I happen to have two contacts in the auror department-call them X & Y. They were the ones who were assigned the Quidditch Cup case. If you'd like I can arrange a meeting."

"That would be fantastic," Tintin said. "You're a lifesaver."

Xenophilius smiled. "Glad to be of help. However, I may need a bit of a favor in return." He reached into his bag and produced a thick manuscript. "My latest book: _The Nargle (and How to Get It)_. A positive blurb for the cover would really help it sell."

Tintin's smile went from genuine to pasted on. "Ah, well, of course. I'd be happy to."

"Wonderful! I'll send you a copy by owl and get in touch with my contacts. When would you like to meet?"

"As soon as possible."

"Splendid! How about now?" Xenophilius sat back in his chair and waved to someone. "Thomson! Thompson! There's someone I'd like you to meet!"

"Wait, the Twins?" Haddock fell back and groaned. "Blistering barnacles, why did it have to be bloody Thomson and bloody Thompson?"

Xenophilius looked surprised. "Ah, you know them?"

"I was their commanding officer," Haddock said. "Trust me when I say they're the most bumbling buffoons the force has ever known."

"I'm sure they're not that bad," Tintin replied.

_**Crash!**_

Xenophilius and Luna winced. "Oh, dear. They appear to have fallen."

"Probably tripped over their own shoelaces," Haddock muttered.

"Each other's shoelaces, actually," Tintin said watching as a crowd gathered in a circle by the door.

"Great. Send in the clowns."

* * *

**If you are enjoying the story so far, do remember to favorite, follow, and leave a comment below. And be sure to take a look at the other stories on my profile; hopefully you'll enjoy one of them as much as this one (perhaps even more(?)).**


	3. The Goblet Debacle

Tintin observed the two wizards who had sat down opposite him with mild fascination. According to Haddock and Lovegood, Alain Thomson and Allan Thompson had absolutely no family relation to one another. In spite of this, you'd have trouble telling them apart if not for the subtle flare of Thomson's(?) moustache. The men wore matching black suits and bowler hats, and each carried a wooden cane, inside of which they concealed their wands.

"Very good to meet you, Tintin," Thomson said, extending a hand. "We've much admired your work in the papers."

"To be precise, we're great admirers."

"I'm glad to hear it," Tintin replied.

"And how good it is to see you, Haddock." The Captain rolled his eyes and signaled to Tom for another drink. "He taught us everything we know at the auror academy."

"You're too kind," Haddock muttered. "I'm sure I can't take all the blame."

Thompson shook his head. "No, no, Haddock, it's all thanks to you,"

"Yes, to be precise, you're to blame."

"Xenophilius tells me you've been assigned the Quidditch Cup case," Tintin said.

Thomson nodded. "Indeed, we have. It has proven a tough nut to crack, however."

"We're stumped."

"Shocking," Haddock said as Tom handed him his drink. He suddenly upended the glass onto the counter. "Ow!" Tintin had pushed his heel onto the Captain's toes, and now gave him a warning glance. Haddock scowled back and busily mopped up the whiskey with a napkin, which he then wrung out back into the glass.

"Tell us about the case," Tintin said, turning back to the detectives. "What did you learn during the investigation?"

"I'm not sure we should be saying anything," Thomson said, glancing around the room. "Loose lips, you know."

"But seeing as how we owe Haddock so much, we suppose it couldn't hurt," Thompson continued. "We believed the former Death Eaters were involved to some extent-"

"When we tried to interview a few of them we were stonewalled."

Thompson winced. "Quite literally, as when we went to interview Lord Malfoy he wouldn't unlock the front gate."

"They all had solid alibis, however, so that led us nowhere."

"What about Crouch and Winky?" Tintin asked.

"The elf?" Thompson frowned. "Well, she was the only one around, the wand was found on her, and Crouch swore under oath that he didn't cast the Dark Mark."

"So that's it?" Tintin looked disappointed. "You still think it's Winky's fault?"

Thomson nodded. "We're afraid so. We have no other leads."

"It's been weeks since the Cup, and any evidence at the campground was completely erased or lost."

"Oh, come on," Haddock said, "There's nothing else? You two have found nothing of interest in a month's work on the job?"

Thomson and Thompson both pondered the question. "Well, one thing does come to mind," Thomson said.

"We are a little confused as to how the house elf got this particular wand."

"It didn't belong to Crouch?" Tintin asked.

"No, well, not Crouch _Senior_."

"The wand belonged to Barty Crouch's son."

"Barty Jr.?" Haddock sat up. "Now that is interesting."

"How so, Captain?" Tintin asked.

"Young Barty was a bad egg," Haddock explained. "Always had been. During the trials after You-Know-Who's death, it was revealed that he had been a Death Eater. Several turncoats testified that he'd been involved with the capture and torture of Frank Longbottom and his wife, Alice. Frank was one of the best aurors on the force. He'd have been in charge of the department by now, if Barty and that Lestrange witch hadn't driven him mad.

"At the trial, we found out that Barty Sr. would be the presiding judge. I was convinced he'd pardon his snot of a son, but Crouch did the right thing, though it couldn't have been easy. Young Barty got shipped off to Azkaban, where he died several years later." The Captain frowned. "How did the house elf get that wand? It should have been destroyed sometime after the trial."

"I'm afraid that question may never be answered."

* * *

The wispy, luminous white smoke stream shot out of an air duct and into the hectic whirlwind of the pressroom of _Le miroir magique _one hour to deadline. The headquarters of the newspaper occupied an 'abandoned' Art-Nouveau department store in the heart of Brussels. Rows of lavishly-ornamented desks and office-chairs were occupied by disheveled, exhausted witches and wizards frantically at work on typewriters or dictating messages to post owls and the in-house messengers; the machine-gun clack of typewriter keys and the harried shouts of the staff echoed off the marble walls. The room was lit by large globular gas-lit chandeliers and sconces by night; by day, however, a massive glass roof proved enough to light the main atrium. By the lobby, brass cage lifts rose and descended at a steady rhythm. The building was a bit worn down: several of the gas chandeliers were sputtering or disconnected, the carpets were frayed and stained, the desks marked by ink splotches and scorch marks from a hundred years of spilled inkwells and unattended cigarettes. The brass lifts and fittings were in need of a good polishing, and a few buckets were strategically placed to catch the drips from the cracks in the skylight. She was a ruin, but a beautiful ruin: the employees affectionately called her _la grande-duchesse_.

Tintin, an island in the hurricane, sat among the chaos reading an evening copy of the _New York Dowsing Rod_. He glanced up from his message pile at the arrival of the Patronus and watched the smoke manifest into a sparrow which perched atop his typewriter carriage. "_The Director would like to see you,_" it said before dissipating. Tintin stood up, nudging Snowy awake with his foot. "C'mon, boy. We're going upstairs."

They walked to the lift and traveled up to the penthouse level. Emerging into the reception room, Tintin could see the city of Brussels spread out through a picture window behind the secretary's desk. She looked up and gestured to the door. "He's expecting you," she said.

Tintin entered the room. A haze of cigarette smoke obscured the air and brought tears to his eyes. Behind a desk the size of a billiard table, the Director sat, a smoldering cigar resting in an ashtray beside his typewriter. He gestured to a chair. "Sit down."

Tintin obeyed with a thin smile: he knew the director's gruff demeanor was partly a charade. "You wanted to speak with me, Sir?"

"Where are you at on the Quidditch Cup investigation?"

"I've hit some turbulence, but I'm confident there could be a break."

"So you've reached a dead end. Good, because you're off the story."

Tintin sat forward in his chair. "What in Merlin's name for?"

"The readership has lost interest," the Director replied. "Two weeks without a payoff is a long time, and the public expect results."

"Can't you give me an extra week?" Tintin asked.

"I can't," the Director replied. "I need you for another story, something flashier. You're going to Scotland to cover the Triwizard Tournament."

Tintin frowned. "I thought Marcello was covering the event?"

The Director scowled. "Marcello's suffering from ennui again. I sent him to Rome to recuperate. I've assigned Remi to the task, but he needs a translator. You two have a history, and I need my two best reporters on the scene, in light of recent developments."

"Developments?" Tintin asked.

"You haven't heard? There's another champion."

"Did Ilvermorny decide to participate?" The Director shook his head. "Who's this fourth champion, then?" The Director unrolled an advance proof of the morning's _Prophet_ for Tintin to see. A young wizard with a telltale lightning bolt scar was staring out from the triple-column photograph, giving the camera the glazed look of a shell-shocked soldier. "_Harry Potter._" Tintin sat back in the chair, suddenly dizzy. When the ground stopped rocking, he refocused on the Director. "I'll book a spot on the next portkey, then."

* * *

Tintin leaned out of the carriage and eyed the beasts at the reins warily. "I can't stand Thestrals."

"Aye," Haddock replied, shaking his head. "Bad memories."

Tintin nodded. He'd seen death before, and it pained him to be reminded of the grim casualties from his adventures. He stuck his head back into the compartment and was lost in thought for the rest of the ride.

They disembarked and entered the clock tower courtyard of Hogwarts. Naturally, Tintin was of the belief that Beauxbatons was the best wizarding school bar-none. Having spent a year as an exchange student at Hogwarts, he nursed a soft spot for the castle, with its hodgepodge of towers and cloisters and the many eccentricities inside its aged stone walls.

"Tintin!" Tintin and Haddock turned as a very large woman approached them from the direction of the lake.

"Madame Maxime!" Tintin stepped forward to the shake the woman's hand and quickly regretting it. "So good to see you again," he said, rubbing his crushed hand.

"We had too little time together during the first task," the headmistress replied. "So glad to finally see my pupil errant."

"I can't stay away forever, Madame Director," Tintin replied. "You'd miss me too much."

"He likes to stir the cauldron, our Tintin," Haddock said.

"He never stops, if I recall some less-than-satisfactory potions marks correctly." Maxime noticed the Captain for the first time. "Captain 'addock, a pleasure to see you as always."

"Likewise," Haddock replied. He held out a hand, only to quickly pull it away. "Forgive me if I don't shake," he said quickly. "...it's flu season, you know."

"How is Fleur, Madame Director?" Tintin asked.

Maxime puffed with pride at the mention of her star pupil. "She is marvelous, in spite of _l'imbécillité_ of this entire tournament."

"You are referring to Mr. Potter, I take it?"

Maxime nodded. "I don't know how he pulled it off, but he'll pay, mark my words."

"I wouldn't go around threatening Mr. Potter, madame," Haddock said. "The last one to do it ended up dead."

Maxime looked horrified. "_Mon Capitaine_, you mistake me for a beast! Potter? _Non_, that young lamb is clearly as stunned about the entire thing as we are. Non, this is Dumbledore's doing: he and Monsieur Bagman have upset the scales for a guaranteed Hogwarts victory."

"Are you speaking ill of Fleur's talent?" Tintin asked.

"Do not put words in my mouth, young man; such a journalist, no off switch." Maxime replied, cracking a thin smile. "Enough of this talk, have you eaten yet? It's about lunchtime; the food they cook here is horrible, but at least we haven't been served anything boiled or fried."

"I think we'll join you," Tintin nodded, linking arms with the director.

"I assume there's no wine service," Haddock said.

"Not to worry, Captain." Maxime produced a thermos-size flask from under her robes. "I'll share if you promise not to tell."

"Of course, loose lips sink ships."

Tintin rolled his eyes. "Don't encourage him, Madame."


	4. The Reluctant Champion

**We're back! Hope you enjoy this chapter. Reviews seem promising. I know this is a niche crossover, but I'm glad to see some people are reading it, and I'm even happier to know that some are enjoying it.**

The Great Hall's four house banners had been swapped out with the coats of arms of the three schools, and the tables had been regrouped into three rows. Somehow, the Castle had managed to adjust the Hall's dimensions to accommodate the new arrangement.

Tintin and Haddock followed Madame Maxime down the aisle towards the Staff Table. Tintin recognized the majority of the staff and gave a wave to Professor Flitwick. They'd met at an international dueling competition where the diminutive professor took first place.

At the end of the table, beside Maxime's empty chair, sat Igor Karkaroff. Tintin tried to keep his expression neutral, but the captain didn't bother to hide his fury. _"He has a lot of nerve showing his face around here,"_ Haddock whispered, his wand hand tingling.

_"Please don't attack a member of the faculty in front of the students,"_ Tintin replied.

_"Or at least wait until after lunch,"_ Maxime added. Fortunately, Karkaroff had taken one look at the captain's expression and fled the room.

"Ah, Mr. Tintin!" Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore stood from his chair and held out his arms in greeting. "So pleased to see a member of the international press covering the event." He gestured to the man beside him. "I believe you already know Msr. Remi."

A middle-aged man with a receding chin and thinning grey-blonde hair stood and grinned. "There he is! My greatest creation!" A wry smile creased the corners of his mouth. "Glad you could come to lend me a hand."

Tintin gave a small bow and shook the man's hand. "Hello, Msr. Remi."

Remi laughed. "What's with the royal greeting?" the man asked. "You're my equal now, Tintin, not my apprentice."

"Of course...though calling you Georges would take some getting used to."

"Then call me Herge—everyone else does." He put his hand on Tintin's shoulder and grinned. "Good to see you, son. It'll be wonderful to have a translator to assist me. Not everyone can speak French like Director Dumbledore here."

Dumbledore nodded. "Mr. Herge here was telling me all about your recent adventure in the Orient. For a young man, you have had quite the storied life." Dumbledore looked over at Haddock. "Archibald, my, my, how long has it been since we last saw one another?"

"It was '82, I think," Haddock replied. "During the Lestrange trial."

"Ah, yes. We meet again in better circumstances. Alastor is around somewhere. I'm sure you'd have some stories to tell."

Haddock grinned. "I bet." He looked over at Tintin. "Mad-Eye and I were partners in many a scrap.

"You were also good drinking partners," Dumbledore noted.

"Aye, we got into _quite _a lot of trouble together," Haddock said. "When you meet him, be sure to ask him how he lost his eye."

Tintin grimaced. "I don't think I will."

"Now that we've caught up, I'm sure you are hungry from your trip," Dumbledore gestured to an empty seat beside Herge. "Archibald, you may sit here. Tintin, I expect you'd like to join your fellow students."

Tintin nodded and turned to approach the Beauxbatons table. "Look!" Hermione tugged on Harry's sleeve to get his attention. "It's Tintin and Haddock."

"Why are they here?" Harry asked.

"They're here for you, I expect."

Harry groaned and went back to pushing his food around the plate.

Tintin took an empty place at the Beauxbatons table and helped himself to a chicken leg, smuggling some choice cuts to Snowy under the table. A few of the students recognized him and smiled. "So the Great Reporter graces us with his presence," a boy in his year said.

Tintin grinned. "I've been ignoring my studies for too long. Maxime called the aurors to bring me in for truancy."

"Right, and the Tournament has nothing to do with it."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Where's Fleur?"

"Right behind you." Fleur Delacour leaned over and wrapped him in a hug.

"Fleur, how nice to see you," Tintin turned and kissed her cheek. "And you as well, Gabrielle."

The two girls huffed. "Is that all? 'Nice to see you?'" They took a seat on either side of him. "How is it our natural charms have no effect on you?" Gabrielle asked

"I can't imagine why," Tintin replied as he made them each a plate. "How was your summer?"

Fleur gave an immaculate Gallic shrug. "Dull. We spent a month on the Riviera."

"All the boys were dreadful flirts," Gabrielle added.

"Such a bother being magically irresistible," Tintin said with a smirk.

"What about your summer, _mon limier_? Your adventures make everyone else's summers seem positively banal. While we were at the beach or in the Alps you were single-handedly nabbing dragon smugglers in Shanghai."

"I didn't do that alone," Tintin said modestly. "I had Snowy and the Captain to help me."

Gabrielle leaned down and gave the dog a scratch behind the ears. "Yes, everyone needs a voice of reason to keep them in check. Isn't that right, _Milou_?" The terrier gave a bark in agreement; if he were a bird, he'd be strutting like a peacock.

"Congratulations on becoming school champion, by the way."

"Congratulations?" Fleur ran a hand across her face. "Are you being smart with me? I haven't slept in days! Do you know what our first task is?" She leaned in close. "_Dragons._"

Tintin's eyes went wide. "You're joking." Fleur shook her head. "Who thought that was a good idea?"

"This whole contest is starting to seem like one big mistake. You've heard about Potter?"

"Of course he has," Gabrielle said. "Why else would he bother to be here?"

"Is this true?"

Tintin smiled. "I follow the news, Mlle. That I get to see you again is a pleasant bonus."

Fleur grinned. "You've always been too curious for your own good, _mon curieux_. Don't let it get you in trouble."

"When have I ever gotten myself in trouble?" Tintin asked.

"Remember the school trip to Syldavia?"

"Ah, _touche_."

"Yes, what was supposed to be a simple school outing turned into a major diplomatic incident, all because you couldn't keep your nose out of the Bordurian conflict. Good thing I was there to offer my expertise."

"It was completely unnecessary."

"You would've been shot by that border guard if I hadn't intervened with some wandwork. If you spent more time in school, you'd learn some defense."

"Wit over Wands, Fleur, and I can take care of myself perfectly well, thank you very much."

Gabrielle snorted. "More like Witless and Wandless."

Tintin threw up his hands. "I'm outnumbered!"

The two sisters laughed and wrapped him in a hug. "Welcome back, Tintin."

* * *

After lunch, Harry went to the library and found a well-hidden study table behind the stacks. He'd told Hermione he was preparing for the first challenge, but in reality he was studying up on a certain reporter:

_To Haddock's surprise and mine, Thompson and Thomson's hair and moustaches started growing at a near impossible rate. To further add to the spectacle, their hair began to change color, first green, then pink, then mauve, and so on and so on. _

_Whatever it was that the Twins had drank, it was not your run-of-the-mill Pepper-Up potion._

We had little time to reflect on this strange occurrence, as the laboratory doors blew off their hinges and Professor Müller and his bodyguard charged in shouting curses.

A dog's bark made Harry start. Snowy had rounded a corner in the stacks and was looking at Harry with interesrt. He barked again, and Harry heard footsteps on the stone floor coming towards him. Harry put the book into his bag just as Tintin appeared. "Ah, there you are. Hermione said you'd be here."

Harry scowled. "Hermione wasn't supposed to say anything. If you're here for an interview, I'm not in the mood."

The reporter held out his hands to show he carried no notebook and quill. "I'm off the clock. Nothing we say will make the front pages tomorrow. May I sit down?" Harry reluctantly agreed. "You've had quite the school year so far," Tintin said lightly. "Do you look for trouble, or does trouble find you?"

"I just wanted a quiet year," Harry said with a groan. "Seems fate has it in for me. What about you? From your books, it seems like you're always getting into some sort of mixup."

Tintin nodded. "It's my job to get into trouble, although my editor says I tend to make news rather than report it." He cocked his head. "You've been reading my books?"

"A few," Harry admitted, blushing. "If you don't mind me asking, is Tintin your real name?"

Tintin laughed and shook his head. "It's a nom de plume. It's better if people don't know my real name."

"Why? Is it safer?"

Tintin grimaced. "Sure, let's go with that." Beside the table was a window overlooking the Quidditch pitch. Workers were busy setting it up for the first Task. "Are you ready for tomorrow?" He asked.

"Not at all. I still can't believe they're making us fight dragons."

"I'm sure you won't fight them," Tintins replied. "Most dragons are endangered species, and even the Ministry of Magic isn't that stupid...I hope."

Harry sighed. "Apparently I'm supposed to be interviewed by the _Prophet_ tomorrow, before the Task." Tintin gave a snort. "What?"

"They'll probably send in Skeeter," Tintin's voice dripped with disdain. "She's their star 'reporter', if you believe a word she writes."

"What do you mean?"

"She uses a Quick-Quotes Quill." He noticed Harry's confusion. "It's an auto-dictation quill. Only Skeeter and the worst gossip mags use them. They tend to 'enrich' the story."

"Great. Do you use one?"

Tintin looked slightly offended. "Of course not. I write facts, not fiction."

"Will it be that bad?"

"I expect it will. You're a star, Harry, and she'll do whatever she can to make sure you make good copy."

"Is there any way I can avoid her?"

Tintin rubbed his chin in thought. "Well, I can think of _one_ way. You'll need to sign some paperwork, though."

"Great, more contracts."

* * *

The next morning Tintin stood outside the Champions' tent, notebook and quill in hand. He saw Skeeter approaching, photographer in tow, hunger in her eyes. "Good morning, Rita."

Rita looked at the younger reporter with distaste. "Ah, Tintin, didn't expect you to be here. I suppose you're here to interview Potter? If I were you, I'd get lost—this is the _Prophet_'s story, not yours."

"Funny you should say that, Rita," Tintin began, smiling, "But through good fortune, the _Miroir_ has gained exclusive interview rights with Msr. Potter."

"You can't do that!" Rita nearly snapped her quill in half. "Can he do that?" he asked her photographer. The man shrugged. "How can you do that?"

"Mr. Potter signed a legally binding contract with my paper," Tintin replied airily. "If you want to talk to Potter, you have to go through me."

"And I suppose you're going to refuse me if I ask."

"You suppose correct."

"Damn you! The _Prophet_ will throw a fit when they hear of this!"

"Don't worry, the _Prophet_ will get their interview. It just won't be from you. Msr. Potter and I have agreed to allow your paper to print my story." He paused to inspect his nails, looking up after a few minutes. "Oh, you're still here? The press box is that way, I believe. Best get up there and find a good seat before the fireworks begin."

With that, Tintin turned and entered the tent, leaving a red-faced Rita Skeeter grinding her teeth hard enough to crack a molar.


	5. A Message Regarding the Hiatus

p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px;"span style="font-style: italic;"I know I haven't updated my stories in a long while. There are two reasons for this:/span/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px;"span style="font-style: italic;"The first, and simplest reason is that I have writer's block. /span/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px;"span style="font-style: italic;"The second is much more complicated and frustrating./span/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px;"span style="font-style: italic;"In the past two years I have begun to question my gender identity. I'm still not sure what I am, but I know I am not entirely male./span/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px;"span style="font-style: italic;"J. K. Rowling's recent behavior on Twitter was crushing to me. I loved Harry Potter, and I still do, but I am having a hard time separating the author from her work. I hope she realizes the pain she's caused many of her fans, including those queer fans who looked up to her and her characters as heroes./span/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px;"span style="font-style: italic;"I don't know when I'll be ready to continue my work. I certainly don't want to abandon any of it. Please be patient and hang in there./span/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px;"span style="font-style: italic;"-Eleanor/span/p 


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